When Little Man was a little boy, every day was an adventure.
Mainly because I had no idea what I was doing.

The Kid came to us totally his own person. He knew what he liked, what he hated and with his own personality that was explosive.
Little Man, on the other hand, was so different. I had to teach him how to be a little boy, and he had to teach me how to be a mummy, and I think that's why we have such a strong bond like we do now.

I didn't carry him in my womb, but for a whole year I carried him in my arms, even when it felt like I would break.

He's truly my little man, and although there are times when it can be exhausting having a constant talking, naughty shadow, I'd be a shell of a woman without him.

We started this adventure together, the moment he walked through our doors, stomped into our living room and picked up the playdough.
There isn't a bit that I've forgotten, each little moment I've stored away like a precious jewel, never knowing when we will have our last.

I've made a conscious effort not to take anything for granted when it comes to my little boy, like the last time he held my hand as we crossed the road. We discussed it on our way to school. Him telling me that he's a big boy now and doesn't need to hold my hand. He's 8. The other boys don't hold hands with their mums anymore either.
Me, I bit my lip and tried very hard to stifle my sobs. I wanted to say "But you're my little boy still. I have to hold your hand until you're 30."
But of course, I knew that it was probably time. How lucky that I had that opportunity. How many mothers missed that last hand hold? Do they lie awake in a cold sweat thinking of the things that they don't want to miss too?

We stood on the side of the crossing, waiting for the cars to pass.

"One more time then? So I can remember this always?"
He thought about it for a moment.

"Okay. So we can remember."